At the time, Eliza had meant it. Her mother-in-law seemed to understand. As soon as Eliza said those words, a light extinguished in Jocelyn’s eyes as she reached for the keys and plucked them from Eliza’s palm.
“Ah,” she said briskly. “I was afraid of that.”
Then she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eliza’s forehead before leaving the back room and disappearing into the chapel to take a seat beside her husband.
Still reeling with confusion, Eliza had slipped the veil over her eyes and walked, unaccompanied, down the aisle to meet her husband. She and Jocelyn had never spoken of the moment again.
Until now.
Jocelyn’s eyes flashed. “Do you still love him?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to our business.”
“How much money do you need?”
“Sixty thousand dollars.”
The sum sat there on the table like a stack of dirty laundry. Eliza had done it. She’d said it. She’d voiced her needs, and now all she could do was let the chips fall where they may.
Jocelyn pursed her lips. “I assume you have a business plan?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I’m currently in the process of securing my first large client. Have you heard of Marguerite Hill? She writes popular women’s self-help books. Take Charge swept the bestseller lists last year. She’s got a new book coming out next year—Be Free— and I’ve presented a proposal for what my company could do for her. I suspect we’ll win her business.”
“What’s the name of your company?”
Eliza’s mouth went dry. “Eliza Tate Public Relations.”
Jocelyn smiled as if she suspected Eliza had made the name up on the spot. “So you had a business plan in place before you quit your job, but you are only just now realizing you need additional funding?”
“It was a gross miscalculation on my part,” Eliza said, feeling her cheeks heat with shame. “I’m sorry it’s so last minute.”
“You are the most detail-oriented young woman I’ve ever met.”
Jocelyn raised her water glass to her lips and crooked an eyebrow. “Were you fired?”
“Laid off.”
“Does Roman know?”
“Enough.”
Jocelyn nodded, unperturbed. “Does Roman still…” She frowned, looked down. Her fingers brushed gently over a bruise on her wrist that looked suspiciously like a thumbprint.
“Roman has his flaws.” Eliza watched her mother-in-law tug her sleeve down to cover the mark. “But he’s my husband. I’m sure you understand.”
Jocelyn studied Eliza more closely. Eliza couldn’t tell whether the tint in her eyes was one of crushing disappointment or grudging respect.
“Well, then, consider your request done. It’s the least I can do. I imagine you want the funds transferred to a personal account? Or actually, I’ll just have Todd write a check in your name.”
Eliza swallowed as Todd wrapped up his conversation across the room and sauntered back toward their table.
“Thank you, Jocelyn,” Eliza whispered. “For everything.”
TRANSCRIPT
Defense: Four months ago, the victim filed for a restraining order on you. Why?
Penny Sands: You’ll have to ask him.
Defense: It’s impossible to ask the victim, seeing as he’s dead.
Penny Sands: Right. What’s your point? I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t allowed to be within one hundred feet of him, remember?
SEVEN
Seven Months Before
July 2018
Come in.”
With trembling fingers, Penny twisted the doorknob and let herself inside the office at the back of the acting studio. She found the room dimly lit, a bit musty due to the age of the building, but neat. Movie posters dripped down the walls while spines of brightly colored books winked out from dusty shelves.
Most of the books were on the craft of writing screenplays, acting, or navigating the shark-infested waters of Hollywood. Surprisingly, one shelf was dedicated to a selection of self-help books. Yet another thing they had in common. Yet another reason fate had brought them together.
“Thank you for sending this along.” Roman wore a pair of glasses that Penny had never seen on him before. They were thick-rimmed and made him look studious in addition to striking. He gestured to his computer where, presumably, he was studying Penny’s screenplay. “I always knew you’d be a talented actress, but I hadn’t suspected your writing would be incredible as well.”
“You like my work?” Penny twisted her hands before her body. “Are you just saying that?”
Roman gestured toward the chair. “Take a seat.”
She exhaled a breath through pursed lips. It was working. Her plan would be worth every moment of careful preparation. All Roman had needed was a gentle touch in the right direction to get the wheels spinning. And that light touch had been a teensy white lie about a screenplay.
“Your writing is good,” Roman said finally, pulling his glasses from his face and setting them gently on the desk. “Very promising work, Penny. I’m impressed.”
Her heart leaped like a jackrabbit. “You’re just saying that!”
“Why would I lie to you?” He spread his hands wide. “I promised you honest feedback. Now, there are plenty of things to improve—”
“Oh, I know it’s not perfect.”
Roman smiled patiently at Penny’s interruption, then picked up his glasses and slid them back onto his nose. “I hope you don’t mind, but I printed out the first half and redlined some of it for you. In terms of the bigger, global changes, I thought it might be best if we covered those with a conversation. The red pen is so impersonal.”
Penny nodded, holding her breath.
“Now, Penny, now is the time for you to take out that dreaded notebook and begin scribbling away.”
She spent the next half hour, right up until the start of class, scribbling nonsensical notes into said notebook. Roman offered her candid suggestions to improve pacing and structure. He broached the idea of a big cut at the beginning and a bigger twist at the end. Penny nodded along like she knew exactly what he was talking about.
“I’ve got to get class started,” he said. “However, if you’d like to revise and send it back to me, I’d be happy to take another look.”
“I would be honored,” Penny said and then realized she sounded stupid. “I mean, that’d be awesome.”
Not that it mattered what Penny said, because she wouldn’t be revising anything. It wasn’t exactly her script to revise. She didn’t know what the hell Roman was talking about when he told her to cut the second scene or add suspense leading up to the first twist. Because she hadn’t written a word of it.
But none of that mattered. Some things were more important than the truth. And what really mattered was that her borrowed piece of art had gotten Penny face time with the elusive Roman Tate.
“It’s my pleasure. Moments like this are what roped me into teaching in the first place.” Roman leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Finding inspired students, helping them to discover their creative paths. This industry is bloated with actors, writers, producers who are so focused on the money, the fame, the business. It’s a breath of fresh air to meet someone like you.”